Yellow Blossoms
by starkist
Summary: Yellow blossoms have always held a symbol of hope for Katniss Everdeen. Even years after the war has ended, and she's started a family with Peeta, the reminder is not lost on her. Various insights on Katniss's and Peeta's life as parents. Post-Mockingjay, canon compliant.
1. Chapter 1

"I'm home," I announce as I slip into the warm kitchen, quietly closing the back door behind me. Peeta glances up and offers me a small smile, before bowing his head over the dark-haired toddler in the high chair. "How was she?" I ask.

"Wonderful, like always," Peeta coos without looking back. "I think she missed you, though."

"Oh no," I murmur as I place my game sack on the counter next to the sink.

"Mama!" the girl bleats, as though she's trying to prove her father right. I arrange my face into the most comforting smile I can before I turn to face her.

"Did you miss me?" I ask. I walk over to where they sit, next to the kitchen table. Both smile at me. Peeta nods gently, letting me know that it's true. The girl stares up at me. "Yeah," she says simply.

It's enough. I wipe some of the strawberry jam off her face, her skin nearly as pale as her father's. It's his blue eyes that look up at me from beneath those dark curls. "I missed you, too," I tell her. Immediately, she holds out her arms for me to lift her out of the high chair.

"Not yet, Dilly," Peeta says. "Just a few more bites. Open wide." She does as she's told, and giggles as he makes a low hum, over-exaggerating the almost silent sound of a hovercraft. Not that she needs it. She's good about eating everything we give her. Maybe it's because of the way her parents still treat every meal like they might never have one again, no matter how silly it may seem now…

"She's all yours," Peeta interrupts my thoughts, straightening up. "I have to get over to the bakery and turn the ovens on."

"Okay," I nod. "Have you eaten yet?"

"Yes. I ate while I fed her."

I give another nod, and turn my attention to our daughter, whose arms are stretched out towards me again. "Let's get dressed while Daddy gets ready for work," I tell her, making my way to the stairs and up to her bedroom. I let her help me pick out an outfit for her to wear, and we make quick work of changing her into it. Then we dutifully send Daddy off to work for the day.

"Be good for Mama," Peeta tells her as he plants a kiss on her forehead. Then he turns his attention to me. "I'll be home for lunch," he says, and gives me a kiss. "Will you be okay?"

"Sure," I say dismissively, but Peeta captures my chin and forces me to look at him. Just as he did all those years ago on the beach. "Katniss?"

I try to fight it, but it's no use. I lean into him after a second, and he encompases me with his arms, still strong after all this time. And still remarkably steady.

"I'll be back at lunch," he repeats quietly, only this time it isn't to let me know his plans. It's to reassure me. "Come over to the bakery if you need to," he adds. "I'll make dough dolls for Dilly."

"I'll be fine," I say.

"Katniss."

"Okay," I relent at last. "I'll go over if I need to."

Seeming mollified, Peeta nods and gives me a last kiss on my own forehead before he sets off to start his day.

"Bakery?" Dilly asks in the jumbled way she puts her words together.

"Yeah," I smile at her. "We'll go visit Daddy at the bakery if we need to."

She just stares at me, as though she's trying hard to understand what I'm telling her. Then the trance is broken, and she's wiggling to get out of my arms. "Down," she instructs me. I comply, not having it in me right now to correct her on her tone or manners. She runs across the room to a basket full of her toys, and begins to pull them out.

We manage to make it through the morning without a visit to the bakery. Dilly entertains herself while I skin and gut the squirrels I shot for our dinner tonight. We have plenty of money, between the Victor's pension we still receive, and the money the bakery pulls in. But I still prefer to catch our meals myself when I can. Peeta encourages it, because he knows it gets my mind off things the way baking does for him. Or drinking and the geese do for Haymitch. Which reminds me, I need to check on him today. So after I'm finished, Dilly and I find our shoes, and with her small hand in mine, we cross the green over to his house.

Haymitch is about the same as ever. Still sleeps with a knife in his hand. Still drinks until he runs out of liquor, then waits for the trains to arrive with their next haul. Some things never change, and he's been indulging in these habits far too long to break them. Dilly plays with the geese while we talk, until a particularly cantankerous one turns on her and chases her back to his porch. After that, she curls up on my lap until the visit is over.

When we reach our house again, the yellow blossoms on the bushes catch my eye. "Look, Dilly," I say. "The primroses are in bloom."

"Bloom?" she repeats.

We go inside long enough to find a pair of clippers, then head back out before I can ask myself if it's really a good idea. Dilly watches curiously as I settle on my knees, and carefully clip the first one. I hold it out for her to examine. "Isn't it pretty?" I ask.

She reaches for it, examining it closely with her tiny little fingers. Then she looks up at me with a beautiful grin stretched across her face. It reminds me of Peeta. And it reminds me of her. "Yeah!" she says.

"Your Daddy planted these a long time ago," I explain. "They're in memory of… of… they're in memory of…" I'm struggling, because the memories are hitting me all at once. Suddenly, it's that day again, when Peeta came home from the Capitol and I caught him digging the holes for the scraggly bushes outside my house, convinced I could yell at the dead. A fresh wave of pain, of grief washes over me, and I hunch over, reliving every memory in excruciating detail. The heat of those bombs as they go off, melting my skin off me; the hollow feeling inside me as I struggled to accept my sister was gone, punctuated occasionally only by the all too keen awareness that she was. Knowing I was returning to 12 alone, no parents, no sister, no best friend. And no Peeta. Somewhere off in the distance, I hear someone wailing. I think it might be me.

"Mama?" I hear a little voice ask. I just glance up briefly, but it's enough to catch sight of her. My baby girl, standing by and watching helplessly as her Mama has a meltdown. She looks afraid, not of me, but for me. Those blue eyes of hers have started to water. And maybe it's strange, to react this way to the sight, but something warm courses through me. My wailing has stopped, though there are still tears running down my cheeks. I reach out to her.

"Come here, Dilly," I call to her. She looks at me, but doesn't move. Unsure if it's a good idea. "Mama's okay," I try to reassure her. She still doesn't look convinced, but slowly she takes one step towards me. Then two. Then she hobbles the rest of the distance and wraps her tiny arms around me the best she can. I hold her small body tightly against me. She's almost as warm as Peeta is. And as I hold her, I can't help thinking how ironic it is that we're out here like this, the two of us, when just over 15 years ago her father and I reunited in the same spot. After everything I lost, he lost, and all they put us through. The Star-crossed Lovers of District 12. But he returned to me even after all that, bringing these bushes as proof of his promise to stay with me. That he came back. Peeta came back.

Just like this little girl in front of me is proof as well. "I love you, Dilly Mellark," I say, smoothing back her hair and smiling gently at her.

"Katniss?" I look up into Peeta's blue eyes, staring down at me, concerned. He glances at the yellow flower in Dilly's hand, and I know I won't have to explain to him what happened. Wordlessly, he helps me climb to my feet and wraps an arm around my waist to support me. Then he picks our daughter up with his other arm. "You're back, Daddy" she says. "Here." And she holds the yellow flower out to show him.

"It's beautiful, Dilly," he tells her. "Have you been taking good care of Mama? She needs lots of hugs today." She reaches out for me immediately; I'm only too eager to accept her hug. Peeta walks us inside and situates us both at the table; makes some tea and opens the small bag of cookies decorated with care by his skillful hand. He sets one down in front of Dilly, and one in front of me. I munch on mine quietly for a few minutes, before I realize Peeta hasn't moved from behind me. My heart beating fast, I turn around. Then it falls into my stomach. Peeta is holding tight to the back of my chair, his knuckles white from his grip. His breathing is labor.

"Peeta…" I call cautiously, but he doesn't answer. I watch him for what seems like ages, wondering how quickly I can get Dilly away if I need to, when he finally relaxes. "I'm okay," he says. We drink our tea and finish our cookies in silence, Peeta and I each keeping an eye on the other. Then we send Dilly into the other room to play.

"How do we explain this to her?" I ask, because how on earth can we make her understand these weird episodes her parents experience? "She's going to be afraid of us if this keeps happening."

"I don't know," Peeta says. "But we'll figure something out. I don't want my daughter to grow up afraid, like… " He doesn't need to finish the sentence, because I already know what he was going to say. He doesn't want her to grow up afraid, the way we did. "I was afraid for you today, you know," he says. "That's what triggered it. I was worried about you."

I don't say anything; just let him wrap his arm around my shoulder. I lay my head on his shoulder, thinking how just doing this after one of his episodes would have been impossible for me years ago. I even say as much to Peeta. He gives a small smile.

"Maybe it'll be the same with Dilly," he says.

The thought makes me smile, because he's right. If Peeta and I could overcome all the odds against us and love each other, why wouldn't our daughter be able to as well? Once more, Peeta has alleviated my fears by knowing the exact right thing to tell me. So when Dilly comes back in, crawling in our laps because it's close to her nap time, it's easy to let her. Because after all, she is her father's daughter.


	2. Bedtime

"Peeta," I whisper as loudly as I dare. He glances up from the sketchbook he's been hunched over for the past half-hour. I widen my eyes and look in the direction of the doorway, hoping he'll understand what I'm trying to tell him. Luckily, he does.

"Dilly," he says quietly, putting his sketchbook and pencils gently aside. As he moves to get up, there's a quick shuffle from the hallway as Dilly scrambles in a vain attempt to hide. It's clear we already know she's there, and hiding is useless. But at four, that concept hasn't quiet sunk in yet. Peeta catches up with her in no time, and scoops her up.

"Why are you still awake?" he asks her.

"I'm thirsty," she says. "I had a bad dream."

"Okay," he says. "We'll get you a glass of water and tuck you back in. I'll check your closet again for monsters."

I see her blue eyes peek over his shoulder at me. "I want mama to sing to me," she says.

"Mama can't sing," Peeta explains. "She just got Ri to sleep."

Dilly gives a scowl that Peeta always says reminds him of me. "But I need mama!" she insists.

Peeta glances back and briefly meets my eyes. "Why mama, Dilly?" he asks.

"Because she'll shoot them,"

Peeta is trying to conceal his amusement as he looks back at me. I give them both a small smile. "Okay," I concede. "Come over here."

Father and daughter cross the room, and as he approaches, Dilly wiggles to free herself from his arms. He bends over to let her go, and she runs over to the couch and climbs up next to me. "Careful," I tell her, because she's moving a lot as she settles in. "You don't want to wake your brother. Why don't you lay your head on my lap?" She does, and as Peeta joins us on the couch, she stretches her tiny body so that she's draped across both of us.

"Daddy, can Mamma and Ri and me visit you at the bakery tomorrow?" she asks once she's made herself comfortable.

Peeta places on hand securely on her back. "Of course. As long as mama is up for it."

Those blue eyes twist around to look up at me. "Mama, can we?"

"If you go to sleep now," I tell her, but I can't help smiling. She snaps her eyes shut and quiets immediately. Peeta and I exchange a grin at how well that worked. Balancing my baby boy who lays with his head nestled against my shoulder in one arm, my free hand moves to her head where I gently begin stroking her hair, smoothing it back. I can feel her relaxing under my touch, until finally her breath evens out and I know she's asleep. I turn to Peeta to ask if he'll carry her back to her room, and find him staring at me with a dreamy smile on his face.

"What?" I ask.

"Nothing," he says. "Just… you're a natural at this."

I smile, and look down at our little girl sprawled out over us. "She sounds like you when she sleeps," I say.

Peeta raises his eyebrows. "What are you saying, Katniss? That I snore?"

"No. You're just a heavy breather," I say.

He rolls his eyes. "I've never heard you complain before," he says.

"Who says I'm complaining?" I smile at him. He gives me a skeptical look, but it soon melts into a grin of his own.

"Okay," he says. "I'll take her upstairs." He maneuvers himself carefully so that he can lift her without waking her. She stirs, but just sighs and rests her head against his shoulder.

As he gets up, I scoot forward to stand up myself. "Why don't we go to bed, too?" I say. He smiles and nods. Grabbing his sketchbook for him, I follow him upstairs.


End file.
